


And We All Still Die

by thegrumblingirl



Category: James Bond (Movies), Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Inkie and Ch made me do this, M/M, actually I don't really remember how this happened, but there's angry sex involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You said you weren’t MI6’s bell boy. And here we are...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> I blame [Inkie](http://countermeasures.tumblr.com) and [Ch](http://rivermorethanafriendithink.tumblr.com). And Richard Armitage.

“What are you doing packing up? Leaving us?”

Q turned to look at Bond over his shoulder, nearly smirking as he detected a hint of worry underneath the rough drawl. 007 didn’t like change—if he’d had the time, the Quartermaster would have informed him that that was a sure sign of encroaching old age, but he recognised that MI6 was practically the agent’s family. No-one liked their second-favourite cousin to just up and leave, not to mention the professional misgivings Bond would have about possibly having to deal with someone new in Explosives & Ordnance he didn’t know how to handle or to trust.

“You’re not that lucky, 007,” he snarked just in case, then. Bond nodded. “M instructed me to go help out 5.”

Bond was so taken aback that the look on his face couldn’t be described as anything other than a true Kodak moment. “Help out _the spooks_? You?” No more words were needed for Bond to convey how utterly ridiculous he thought the idea that MI5 could just willy-nilly request back-up from _MI6_. For a bit of _hacking_. “Have all their own so-called trained professionals abandoned ship, or what?”

“Well, Malcolm left.”

007 remained silent, staring at him, which Q translated as, ‘I don’t give two shits who “Malcolm” even is, you know.’

He sighed. “Look, they need a safeguard variation. I’m the only one, shall we say, on hand who can do that for them. And in the end, we’re all employed by the same ill-fitting suit.”

“Actually, Q, we’re employed by Her Majesty.”

“Shedding royal Corgi, then.”

“Fine. When will you be back?”

“In a couple of days. Not that you’re going anywhere for at least another week, anyway; yes, I read the report from Medical. But if anything truly catastrophic happens, I’ll cut the arrangement short. Otherwise, you and the department will do fine on your own.”

Bond scoffed. “You’re acting like a parent leaving the kids alone at home.”

“The fact that that is the first metaphor that comes to your mind only tells me that family’s exactly what this building and the people in it are to you,” Q said quietly and without smugness at turning Bond’s own words against him.

The agent looked at his feet at that, smiling to himself. When he turned back to Q, his eyes were calm. “Don’t let them do anything stupid.”

“Ah, how often has M told me that concerning you...”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Careful, Bond, or you’ll end up unwittingly admitting that you’re a reckless idiot.”

Bond tilted his head. “I wonder if they’d mind if all they got from you was your head in a jar, connected to your twitchy hands with a bit of wire.”

Q smirked and pushed past Bond, his bag completely accidentally knocking against the agent’s still injured knee.

* * *

“Quartermaster,” he was greeted by one of the senior officers of Section D, Lucas North, with a handshake and a tight-lipped smile that Q suspected hadn’t reached his eyes in a while. Certainly not since the mole hunt a few weeks before.

“Mr North.”

“Lucas, please.”

“Q, then.”

North hesitated, but nodded, looking vaguely amused. “I’m sorry, but while I’m familiar with codenames and aliases, mere letters at the office still seem a little outlandish.”

Q inclined his head in understanding. Before he could say anything else, however, North pushed open the glass door to Section D, and Q was greeted by the general clatter and clutter of an office full of people fighting domestic terrorism. While MI5 was by no means small, Section D had practically everything they needed crammed into their office complex for ready access, instead of concentrating certain divisions on their own floors. Of course it made sense: MI6 agents were based in London like travelling salesmen, whereas the spooks were more comparable to bees. Always on the go, but mostly back at the hive several times a day.

Quite deadly, as well, to the right (and intended) target.

And sometimes even to themselves. Q knew that he was spoilt, really, 007 being the stubborn git that he was and just not dying; but Section D had suffered more losses within the past few years than any other section in MI5, second only to 6’s 00 division.

He was aware that mentioning the colleagues and friends they had lost recently now would only make it worse, so he didn’t. He was aware that mentioning imprisonment in Russia would only make it worse, so he didn’t.

Not yet.

* * *

Lucas watched the younger man like a hawk, as he did with all rookies (to him, at least—he knew Q had been out and about with the infamous 007), as if waiting for him to fiddle with his collar or shift nervously in the standard-issue suit of the hotel’s steward uniforms.

Impressive.

“I thought you said you weren’t one for field work,” he asked as the lift ascended to the fourth floor, carefully guarding his tone.

The Quartermaster shot him a brief look and his expression gave nothing away, but the tone of his voice ended up on just that side of smug when he replied: “You said you weren’t MI6’s bell boy. And here we are...”

Lucas smirked.

Interesting.

As far as jobs like this went, they were relatively straightforward.

Gain access.

Sabotage, detain, or terminate.

Evacuate.

Don’t get caught.

Lucas knew that no job was ever as easy as its description (except perhaps paper-pushing intern at the MOD), but he couldn’t have known that, when Q opened the room with the General Manager’s cloned key card, they signed up for 147 hours of bad news.


	2. Day One, Part 2

** TWO HOURS EARLIER **

“What happens if we get caught?”

“The instructions are to get yourself to a safe location, either one of ours or one of yours, and to wait there until we get you out,” Ros replied evenly, watching as Q prodded a little at the comm ear bud she’d handed him before sticking it in his ear.

“And what happens if we get captured?”

“Then we won’t give you up unless we have no other choice.” She tilted her head at him, as if daring him to show even just a flicker of fear.

Instead, he secured the gun in the waistband of the uniform trousers with no more than a nod. Ros noted idly that they were horribly cut for a person with such trim, long legs and narrow frame.

“Just checking,” he said.

“Is it more fun with 007, then?” Jo asked from the door.

Q’s lips quirked into the approximation of a smile.

“I wouldn’t say ‘fun.’ But at least I’m never bored.”

“No?”

“Mmh. He’s reckless, he’s difficult to control, and he flirts with anything that breathes.” He paused, taking in their expressions. “That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it?”

* * *

They slipped into the suite, knowing it to be empty. Lucas still went to check every room and closet for threats, either on two feet or powered by C4. Finding nothing, he stepped over to the windows and peered outside. The roofs and windows around them were clear, so he turned towards Q, who was already busying himself with the solitary laptop on the coffee table.

Sometimes, Lucas wasn’t sure whether he didn’t prefer bombs over computers.

Best not say that out loud.

Though he had an inkling that he could have given that proper genius three suicide vests at once and he’d have them disarmed and dismantled in under a minute while juggling them in a circus number.

Theoretically, anyway. He wasn’t about to test that theory and have 6 hound his arse for misappropriation of resources.

“You might want to hurry up up there,” Ros’ voice in his ear interrupted the quiet.

“What’s wrong?”

“The meeting ran shorter than expected, the client seemed to be displeased.”

Lucas took a deep breath and leaned over the back of the sofa to get a look at the screen.

“Q?”

“Nearly done.”

“Ros?”

“It’s transmitting. Get out of there, now.”

“I haven’t finished programming the trap door yet,” Q continued typing frantically.

“Leave it.”

“Ten seconds.”

Lucas ground his teeth and straightened up, hands clenching into fists at his side, but he said nothing, his glare fixed on the back of Q’s head.

“Lucas,” Ros urged again.

“Done!” Q set the computer to revert to the state he’d found it in and jumped up, halfway to the door before looking over his shoulder to check if Lucas was following.

He was.

They exited the room and strode off to the right, towards the nearest elevators.

“Where are they?”

“They’re coming up.”

Lucas nudged Q with his elbow to signal to keep walking. “Stairs,” he hissed.

They made it past the elevators and heard it come to a halt and the doors open behind them; the door to the staircase was right in front of them.

It opened before Q got his fingers around the handle.

Within seconds, they found themselves eye-to-eye with a burly, bald man in a black suit that did its best to hide the shoulder holster. Without missing a beat, Q and Lucas stepped apart to let the man through, murmuring, “Sorry, sir.”

Lucas tried to ignore the way his hackles rose as the bodyguard stepped past and he followed Q onto the landing, all the while effortlessly maintaining the facade of a man minding his own business.

“Heya, boys,” a voice came from behind them as they were halfway down the first flight of stairs. They exchanged a quick look before turning.

“How may we help you, sir?” Q took the lead with a polite smile.

“How come you’re up here when there’s all that conference business going on downstairs?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

“What I mean is... Who’s gonna order something from up here when all the rooms are empty?”

“Not all our guests are associated with the conference, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Lucas cut in on the questioning.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Lucas inwardly cursed as he saw the bodyguard’s hand move towards the holster and automatically felt his own go for the one secured at his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Q do the same. “You see, there are no other guests on this floor.”

The three men drew their guns nearly simultaneously—the goon aimed for Q first, who managed to duck and dodge the bullet, throwing himself to the side against the banister, and still fire a shot close enough to make the man flinch to the side. Lucas used the opening to charge up the stairs and tackle him, taking him into a headlock and knocking his body into the wall, all the while pressing his gun to a shining temple.

“Quiet,” he growled. “Drop the gun.” His eyes flickered to Q, who stood where he’d landed and had his gun trained at their attacker as well, looking distinctly irritated.

The suit dropped the gun and Q came up to collect it.

“Cuffs,” Lucas snapped at Q, who nodded. It didn’t matter now, their cover was blown anyhow, they might as well make one of the target’s henchmen into the bargain.

“I don’t think so,” the man in Lucas’ grip wheezed.

A second later, footsteps sounded from above them. “Karl?”

“Fuck,” North cursed, tightening his hold and getting just that bit closer to crushing the man’s windpipe. He abandoned the idea in favour of using his height as leverage and throwing him into the opposite wall before taking off down the stairs with Q.

“Oi!” A shout rang out above them, footsteps quickened.

Lucas and Q were taking the stairs several steps at a time, nearly jumping banisters in an effort to cut corners, when the second guard started running after them, firing at them haphazardly. They’d just reached the back entrance, Q wrenching the door open, when a bullet grazed Lucas’ arm. Face twisting in fury more than pain, he flung himself through the door backwards, putting a bullet of his own through the bastard’s shoulder.


	3. Day One, Part 3

Lucas threw himself around, running after Q at full pelt, and shoved his gun into the waistband at his hip before they hit the open street beyond the alleyway leading from the hotel’s back entrance and slowed down slightly.

“Keep going,” he called, pulling level with Q, the two weaving through the crowd of pedestrians, blending in as best they could. “Ros? What the hell just happened?”

“We’re trying to find out.”

Q skipped over a small dog and nearly tripped, but caught himself before Lucas could reach out to drag him along. “We checked the other ‘guests’ on that floor,” he huffed.

“Your point, Q?”

“I did notice that they’d all already paid for the rooms, and I checked the accounts they paid from; but I didn’t follow it further down the chain. If you dig deeper, I think you’ll find that the accounts had deposits that all lead back to the same source at some point down the line. We’ll likely recognise that source as our target, but perhaps the inquiry will yield some new information about who else is behind this.”

“We’ll get on that. You two, ditch the comms, turn off your phones. Get yourself to a safe house and keep your heads down.”

“Which safe house?”

“They don’t know they’re dealing with 6. One of ours,” Q answered Lucas before Ros could get a word in.

“Sounds like the better option,” Harry’s voice cut in over the ether. “They probably made Lucas, but what we don’t know, they can’t find out. We’ll contact you when it’s safe.”

“And how are you going to do that without comms and with the phones off?” Lucas snapped.

“I don’t think you wanna know,” Q called from his right. “Tell him: stove.”

“Got it.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I said, you don’t wanna know.”

“Enough talk. Radio silence, effective immediately.”

Q and Lucas pried the comms out of their ears and disabled them. Working their phones out of their pockets and turning them off while running along nearly made for a couple of amusing accidents, but eventually they could focus on their feet again.

They were alone.

“Where to?” Lucas bit out, clearly unhappy with the situation and the unknown destination.

“We’re taking the next right into a shady alleyway, and away from CCTV.”

“And then?”

“Mr North, let’s not argue over the route.”

* * *

**ONE HOUR LATER**

"Brixton, really?"

"It's a safe location, and beggars can't be choosers. The pantry is stocked, and I repaired the stove last time."

"You've been here before? What did you ever do wrong?"

"Ran after Bond and saved his arse when I shouldn't have. We had to lie low for a couple of days."

"And just how low was that?" Lucas' tone was acidly amused, and Q paused in his rummage through the medicine cabinet, turning to where Lucas sat on the edge of the bathtub.

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Word has it you two are as thick as thieves."

“Word has it your ex-wife is an MI5 asset working for the FSB.”

“So he doesn’t fuck at work?”

“At least not me.”

Lucas hummed, the banality of the conversation taking his mind off his arm. It was only a flesh wound, but it still smarted like hell; and for all of his resistance to torture, Lucas wasn’t a fan of pain. Q had gone back to sorting out iodine and bandages, so he went ahead and shrugged out of the uniform jacket, pulled off the tie, and started unbuttoning his shirt, ignoring the way the fabric of his sleeves stuck to the blood-encrusted graze. By the time he had half of his kit off, Q stood over him with a damp washcloth, raising an eyebrow in silent query.

"Go ahead," Lucas nodded, suppressing a hiss as Q dabbed the wound, first to remove the blood and clean it, and then with antiseptic. "How did we miss that the other rooms weren't booked by actual people?"

“We can’t double-check everything and chase up every paper trail. Most of the time, irrelevant names are just that, irrelevant. Sometimes, there are surprises.”

“I could have done without this one.”

“You and me both.” Q fastened a bandage of gauze on Lucas’ arm. “Too tight?”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”

Q stepped away, and Lucas eyed the bloodied shirt.

“There’s a cupboard in the hall,” Q said over his shoulder, as if having read his mind. Lucas looked up and their eyes met in the bathroom mirror. Q looked down at himself after a moment. “I’d like to get out of these myself.” Without another word, he started towards the door. Just before exiting, he turned again, pointing his index finger in the general direction of Lucas’ tattooed chest. “Blake?”

“Yes,” was all Lucas offered, and Q merely nodded and went on his way.

* * *

Lucas was heating up a can of ravioli when Q came into the kitchen and dropped into a chair at the small table in the corner. They’d both found clothes that mostly fit in the hall cupboard and, since then, hadn’t said a word. Lucas was too busy resenting the inertia, Q was unsure how to approach him. Granted, he knew about Lucas North, suspected double agent, and he could read him well enough now, as he was bent over the stove, leaning on the counter with both arms, his shoulders hunched up just a little protectively. And while Q usually simply prattled on to draw someone out, Lucas was a different kind of dark horse from Bond.

Q made a mental note not to ask him about his pathetic love of country.

In the end, it was North who broke the silence.

“How long do you think it’s going to take?”


	4. Day Two, Part 1

Lucas woke early. He'd gotten better at sleeping on actual mattresses over the past months, but strange surroundings still caught him off guard. Turning onto his back, he listened for movements in the house: nothing; until he could eventually discern the sound of pages turning coming from the kitchen. He had offered to take the first night shift, since Q had already been up all night tracking arms shipments, but he’d been waved off to the sofa bed in the living room. North had given in—trust the boy wonder or not, he’d have to sleep at some point.

He glanced at his watch: 7.30am. Not too bad. They’d drawn the curtains closed, so little light was filtering in beyond the edges of the fabric. In that half-dark, Lucas twisted so he lay on his side, his back to the door, blocking out the noise as Q put dishes in the sink.

Eighteen and a half hours, his mind supplied; his hand fisted in the pillow. He couldn’t afford to get anxious over this. He wasn’t played out, just temporarily unavailable.

But any agent knew. When they told you to “sit tight” and then let you wait for longer than 24 hours, your value to them was decreasing by the minute. He gave an angry huff when it occurred to him that being there with Q actually provided some sort of job security by pulling him out of 5’s immediate reach—by virtue of this being their safe location, anything that happened here also concerned MI6. And they would most likely listen to whatever recommendation their Quartermaster might choose to make.

* * *

Q finished the chapter and laid the book aside for a bit; then took off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He could hear the covers rustling in the adjoining room, and for a moment was tempted to call out a good morning just to rankle North, but decided to let him rest (and likely stew) a little longer instead.

For Q, sitting still and waiting wasn't any more enjoyable than for the next operative; but he was in the privileged position of being a necessity, not merely an asset. It wouldn't protect him from treason, but it did lend an ease to the way he picked up his plate and mug of tea to carry it to the sink that North would sorely lack the longer this went on. He'd get out of this, one way or another. North, however, was probably keenly aware that Q heightened his current chances of survival. He wondered whether the MI5 agent had worked out exactly how to use him as insurance yet.

Lucas hadn't liked Q's answer to his question, either.

'Considering the situation and all personnel involved... two days, minimum. If the target escalates, make that four.'

North had said nothing for five minutes, and then offered Q a plate of ravioli.

He knew that North possessed self-control that rivalled Bond's, but he also recognised that hankering to feel it slip; because, no matter how far they were being driven into the shadows, they were still human. They were weak and stupid and fallible, and all those other things that turned them into dead men walking or, worse, traitors.

So there Q was, banged up in Brixton, having thrown his lot in with a spook with issues.

* * *

 

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’ll be fine tonight.”

And that was all they said for the next few hours.

* * *

 

When 24 hours were over, Lucas decided to put the first of undoubtedly many nails into his coffin; so he went into the kitchen and sat down across from Q, who apparently hadn’t moved since the evening before.

“Can I ask you something?”

Q threw him a look, then went back to his book.

“Although I appreciate your politeness, I should like to know: did you come in here to ask me a question or to get some answers? Because, let me assure you, the two are rarely one and the same.”

“If you want to talk about manners, perhaps you’d like to stop reading while we’re talking.”

“Oh, it’s not so much reading as it is remembering, I read this penny dreadful three times the last time I was here.”

“You should have packed something new when we left.”

Q tilted his head and closed the book. “What did you want to know?”

“Does that mean I’ve won this round?” The left corner of Lucas’ mouth curled into a smirk, and Q’s eyes were loath to follow.

“No, it means you’re a pain in the arse.”

“That’s not mutually exclusive.” The quirk of a sharp eyebrow, just so.

“No, but neither are commitment and contempt. You can stop using your facial muscles, Mr North; there’s no way in hell you’re letting your guard down already. Come back when you’re not trying to play me though you know you can’t.”

Dark blue eyes continued boring into his.


	5. Day Two, Part 2

"Do you know why I called you that just now, and yesterday? Mr North? After I've referred to you by your first name, as per your request when we met, in the two days since my arrival at Section D?"

"To mock me?"

"Not exclusively, although it is a bonus," replied Q, his tone as conversational as it had been at the Gallery once. "No, you've become Mr North because, in that moment when I put us in this safe house, you and I ceased to be operative and Quartermaster. In that moment, I became your handler. This is my territory, _Lucas_ , and you belong to me now; just as much as you belong to 5. I know it, you know it, which is why you can either ingratiate yourself with me so I'll recommend to let you live, or you can use me as a human shield should I neglect to do so. Being the well-bred wanker that you are, naturally, you gave the first approach priority."

"Just as a professional courtesy." Lucas' voice, to his credit, matched Q's air of discussing the weather over breakfast. Ah, well. Q had known it would be a while before he'd see the armour crack.

Q leaned forward a little. "You didn't really underestimate me like that, did you? No. It's a pity that I haven't just given you anything you don't already know." He paused. "I've made up my mind. There's nothing you can do to influence my decision. Or, in fact, the outcome."

"I can try."

Q shrugged and leaned back into his chair. "Ten years ago, I'm sure you could have. Russia didn't do you any favours, Mr North. But I just might." He greatly enjoyed the minute shift of tension in North's shoulders.

"If Russia had wanted to do me a favour, they'd have killed me."

"Precisely."

Lucas wanted to shatter that smile with his fist.

"Will you tell me?" he asked instead.

"No."

"Not even if I ask nicely?"

"Oh, Lucas,” Q scoffed, getting up and effectively declaring this conversation over. “I once spent five days in here, with Bond trying to wheedle out of me what I was getting Tanner for Christmas." With that, he left the kitchen.

“You’re finding this terribly funny, aren’t you?” Lucas growled at Q’s retreating back. The Quartermaster turned, sticking his head round the door.

“I am, yes. See you later—I’ll find myself something else to read. You’ve spoilt it.”

Lucas stayed where he was, simmering with barely controlled rage, and burning holes into the tabletop with his dark stare.


	6. Day Two, Part 3

'You belong to me now.'

Lucas didn't like the way these words clung to the insides of his skull. Q was right. The ratio of responsibility to control had shifted, into the hands of someone who kept track of 00s over tea. He'd only pretended to speculate on Q's youth as an insecurity; but although he'd known chances of the boy lashing out and revealing _something_ were slim to begin with, he had to try. Instead, the man now rifling through the rickety bookcase two rooms down the hall had called his double bluff, as Lucas had expected. The only thing he had underestimated about Q was the amount of fun he seemed to be drawing from this.

He forced himself to go over Q's words again, to look past that declaration of possession that made his shoulders tense against the pull of invisible rope. Responsibility and control were knives with two sharp edges each. Control meant power, responsibility also meant a duty to protect. And both meant liability. Q was playing a dangerous game, and Lucas deemed it safe to say that he knew it inside out. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

"Overgrown puppy," he finally grumbled to himself, before getting up and following the sounds of Q's movements. He stopped in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the wall, watching as Q examined the blurb on a collection of horror fiction short stories, giving no sign of acknowledging Lucas' presence.

Fine, then.

"Do you play this game with all your agents?" he demanded.

"That's classified." Q grabbed a battered Penguin edition of _Crime and Punishment_.

"If I were Bond, would you do the same?" Lucas loathed the comparison, but if 007 was any indication, Q tended to take responsibility and control seriously enough to risk his career. But the question remained: was that due to principle, or Bond’s questionable charm?

"Bond would know not to ask."

"Harry says your lot are sentimental about him."

Q huffed a quiet laugh. "Well, he’s an expert, then."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means? Eight years in prison in Russia, and then you come back and they let you in?” Finally, Q abandoned his perusal of volumes in favour of returning Lucas’ glare. “Harry Pearce is your mentor, he was your friend; and even though it wasn't him that betrayed you, it was his decision to make, and the part of him that didn’t see just your brilliance in the field made it out of guilt. You were his operative, and he took you back. Why?"

"I know that he doesn’t trust me." There were the knives again.

"No, I suppose he doesn't."

"Do you trust Bond?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he’s unapologetic about the vengeance he seeks." Q pushed _Crime and Punishment_ back into place, his index finger hovering over the book beside it.

“I’ve had mine,” Lucas felt his voice drop and cursed himself. Q’s eyes shot up to meet his again.

“Have you?”

“She’s dead. It’s over,” North insisted.

“It never is. Betrayal isn’t that neat. Once it starts, you can never go back.”

“I’m not a double agent anymore.”

“Then get out. Take the decision out of their hands, out of mine.”

“I lost eight years of my life.”

Q nodded. “And that’s why it’s not over.”

“And you won’t even tell me a lie. What does that say about you?”

Abruptly, Lucas turned on his heel and set off down the hall. Q dropped the books on the bed in the corner and sat on the edge of the mattress. He wasn’t a fan of cruelty as a means of control, but he reminded himself that he didn’t know who Lucas North was right now.

As it happened, neither did Lucas North.


	7. Day Four, Part 1

After that spectacular mockery of an argument, they hadn't spoken to each other again, and, in the evening, Q had wordlessly taken the sofa while Lucas had kept himself busy in the kitchen, brooding. The only disturbance had been Q dropping a fairly well-kept copy of Blake's poems into his lap just before dusk. (Lucas had lobbed it into the sink.) That was two days ago.

Now, what Lucas was about to do wouldn’t sit well with Q at all. The Quartermaster had been holed up in the living room, reading, for most of the past 48 hours. He hadn’t even looked up when, the previous night, Lucas had informed him he’d take the bed in the back instead. By the time Lucas found a decent leather jacket in the hall cupboard and shrugged it on, however, they were well on their way into a rather impressive shouting match.

“Lucas, you are _not_ leaving!” Q came up behind him, his voice steadily rising for the first time.

“Yes, I am. It’s been four days, and I need to get out of this house, just for half an hour!”

“We might have a visitor today; what if he gets here and finds you gone, that’s not going to help you!”

“What’s not helping me is you keeping me stuck in here, on a silver platter!”

“That’s not—that’s not what this is!” When Lucas made to move past him, Q stepped further into the hall and blocked his path.

“You said four days. It’s _been_ four days, and I’m sick of it!” Lucas just kept advancing on Q, drawing himself up to his full height.

“I know that this is difficult for you, but—”

“No, you don’t! Trust me, lad, you really, really don’t. Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because, no matter what I say, it’ll be a bad call. If I say you’ll walk, you won’t believe me! And God knows what you might do if I told you I’ll recommend to cut you loose. It won’t do us any good; doesn’t matter which of the two is actually true.” Q didn’t even possess the courtesy to blink as he squared his shoulders and glared right at Lucas, not the least bit worried about how he actually had to look up a bit at this distance.

“Let. me. get. out. Half an hour,” he bit out through gritted teeth.

“Not out in the open streets, North. Have you looked down the hall recently? There’s a little backyard attached to the house, past the airing cupboard.”

Lucas had to fight the overwhelming urge to put his fist either through the wall or through Q’s face. “I will not cavort ‘round the garden like a disobedient fucking mongrel pup!”

Now, Q looked just about ready to punch his lights out. “Oh for God’s sake, will you just _stop_ talking out of your arse?!” He threw up his hands and partially turned away; but his right hand shot out and pushed against Lucas’ chest when the agent tried to get past him. “You are frightened, Lucas North, frightened out of your skull! Don’t think I haven’t read anything about Russia there is to read, don’t think I don’t know. You can have ‘dum spiro spero’ tattooed on your back as often as you like, but don’t tell me you were never scared. Scared that your country, that your friends had left you for dead; or worse, handed over. Don’t you tell me that you never wondered whether death would be easier.”

“I chose life,” Lucas growled, pushing against Q’s outstretched arm, trying to drive him back towards the door; but the other man pressed back, staring him down relentlessly.

“Yeah, then, and probably today. But you were still scared out of your wits, and you are now. How long are you going to be able to keep choosing life, Lucas?”


	8. Day Four, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is set to The Paper Kites' "Willow Tree March," which is also where I've taken the title of the fic from. [Give it a listen on my tumblr](http://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/40336484721/the-paper-kites-willow-tree-march-woodland).

“What do you think you know about me?” Lucas snarled, surging forward again with such force that Q had to take an involuntary step back, though he stood his ground.

“Not all there is,” Q replied, keeping his voice even, but only with effort. Their close proximity now (and over the last few days) was getting to him, loathe though he was to admit it.

“You should prefer it that way,” the MI5 agent warned him.

“And what if I don’t? And what if I don’t think you should?” Q knew he was moving into dangerous territory here. One push too far, and either North would snap or revert, and they really couldn’t afford that.

“I know my own mind.” The warning was even clearer now.

“Do you?” He couldn’t help it, could he?

“If you have something to say, say it.” Though it’d be best for all involved if he just shut up.

“Are you sure you know what’s been done to you?”

“What, in Russia? They took great care that I was conscious for all of it.” Q could see the lines around Lucas’ mouth tighten as bitter memories resurfaced, just for a second.

“I don’t mean just Russia. I might not mean Russia at all.”

“I have excellent recall of every bit of torture that’s ever been inflicted on me.”

“What about the torture you put yourself through?”

“Are you calling me a masochist?” For the first time in what felt like hours, Lucas smirked. (Though sometimes he thought that surely he must be; and then he quickly stopped thinking about that.)

“Would you prefer that to being called broken?”

“I am not broken!”

“Not yet.”

"Is that a threat?"

"It's an observation. You're standing on a ledge, Lucas; with an itch under your skin and a wobble in your knees."

"And what are you going to do? Push me, or pull me back?"

"That's not on me."

"Then what is?" Lucas bent his head low towards him, a blatant urgency in his voice that he normally reserved for bomb threats and assassinations. He refused to wonder whether he was pleading.

"You surviving until Bond arrives. That's on me." Entirely against his better judgement, Q curled his fingers into the leather of Lucas' jacket and yanked him closer. "And just so you know, I'm not exactly fond of that job, so you better do as I say," he added with a sneer. A jolt went through him as North's expression turned thunderous and he realised just how close they were standing now. _Oh._ He'd considered the possibility, but dismissed it as unlikely... but now...

Lucas seemed to struggle with himself before using the pull of Q's hand to his advantage and closing the distance between them, his breath almost uncomfortably warm on Q's upturned cheeks. "So, tell me." Q didn’t actually get another word in, however, ere Lucas’ lips were brushing his own. “Tell me.”

Q’s mind was racing. Was Lucas saying—offering—what he thought he was? It _would_ make an inordinate amount of sense.

“You think you deserve it, don’t you?” he whispered against Lucas’ mouth.

“Push or pull, Q,” Lucas growled in reply; and Q only had time to think that, if this was what Lucas needed, he wouldn’t mind providing it. Then, he stretched up and kissed him, hard.

Lucas tensed even more for a second, as if surprised that this was, in fact, happening. But then, Q felt him let go, just that bit; and there it was, that final piece of the puzzle that was Lucas North.

_You fall through the trees  
_ _And you pray with your knees on the ground_

Lucas angled his head further to deepen the kiss, impatience curling in his stomach, his nose brushing along Q’s cheekbone and pushing up the frames of his glasses, nearly making him smile. Q’s fingers tightened in the cold fabric of his coat, and Lucas’ own hands did the first thing he could think for them to do: wrapping themselves around Q’s waist and hauling him in.

_For the things that you need,  
_ _With your lust and your greed,  
_ _Weighing down_

Q’s mouth parted when Lucas’ tongue licked at them teasingly, and he couldn’t help the rush of excitement when Lucas bared his teeth in a grin and nipped sharply at his lower lip. The sting was followed by the tingle of stubble against sensitive flesh as Q pulled away and delivered a small bite of his own, to Lucas’ jaw. He felt flushed already, and he valiantly fought to keep a handle on the situation; but he couldn’t deny the heady pleasure it gave him to push his left hand into Lucas North’s hair and grip tight to keep him where he was.

Lucas lowered his head to lick a stripe from Q’s jaw to his ear, scraping his teeth over his neck, and when he felt the Quartermaster’s breath hitch, a voice at the back of his mind reminded him that he might be able to overpower him now, and flee. Trouble was, he didn’t want to. His control was slipping; he could see himself screw up and wanted to, the traitor in his head whispering, “What if.”

_And you weaken your love and you hold it above your head  
_ _Success is the song of the heart, not a song of your bed_

And so he leapt, straight into catastrophe; because, fuck it, he didn’t care. Whatever consequences this would have, he’d handle them, he’d lie and deflect; and if MI6 files at some point contained details on what he liked in bed, then perhaps one unfortunate rookie agent tasked with paperwork would enjoy themselves one day. Yes, he did think he deserved it. All the shit that could possibly rain down on him for this, and the act itself. He deserved being used. Fucking Q, he’d enjoy himself and hate himself for it, and he deserved that, too. So close to destruction, he shut his eyes to the inevitable.

He moved back up to blindly capture Q’s lips in an open-mouthed kiss, but kept his tongue to himself. Q inhaled sharply, just once. He knew.

Q wasted no time and licked into Lucas’ mouth, his nerves thrumming when he allowed himself to feel nothing but angry heat and danger, his eyes sliding shut. As if of its own accord, his hand started pushing against Lucas’ jacket, trying to peel it off his shoulder. Lucas flicked his tongue against Q’s and shrugged the coat off and letting it slide to the floor, leaving his arms hanging at his side. Q frowned for a second before realising. His own hands steady, he reached for Lucas’ wrists and brought them up, towards the buttons of Q’s shirt. Lucas immediately started undoing them, and Q broke the kiss to get a better look at his face. Lucas’ eyes were opening again then, they flickered up to his before glaring at each inch of skin the battered shirt revealed instead.

His left hand still in Lucas’ hair, Q tugged. The agent looked back up at him from where he was pulling the shirt from Q’s waistband and popping the last two buttons before letting go of him again, and Q fixed him with a stare. He pushed his right leg between Lucas’ thighs, feeling his hardness through the layers of fabric, and wondered who would be the first to give up and make a sound. A thrill shot through him when he realised that he could do something about that.

“Don’t keep quiet,” he muttered, his eyes not leaving Lucas’. Then, his hand moved down to palm Lucas’ erection through his trousers, grinding down with the heel of his hand, and the mix between a moan and a grunt that that earned him made his own cock twitch in his pants. Lucas’ head moved against the grip Q had on him, instinctively throwing itself back and exposing the man’s neck; and Q had never been one to decline an open invitation. He lightly bit down on a straining tendon, then moved to press his lips to the skin above Lucas’ racing pulse. Q moved both of his hands to Lucas’ shoulders and squeezed.

“Bedroom,” he whispered into Lucas’ ear, and he’d barely finished saying it when Lucas grabbed his shirt and started walking backwards down the hall.

_And we all still die  
_ _And we all still die_

In the bedroom, the rest of their clothes, including Q’s glasses, came off without much ceremony and, before long, Lucas was on his back on the mattress, his cock fully erect and curving towards his stomach, his legs spread so Q could kneel between them. 

“Close your eyes,” he said when that blue stare continued boring into him.

When Lucas did as he was told, Q slid his hands up Lucas’ inner thighs, pushing them even further apart, until he could brush his thumb over Lucas’ perineum. Lucas’ mouth fell open as he arched off the bed, a gasp escaping his throat. His hands were trying to find purchase in the sheets, twisting them as Q repeated the motion with one hand while the left wrapped around Lucas’ cock, slowly moving up and down the length.

Lucas moaned and bucked his hips, seeking more friction, but Q kept his pace. He took his right hand away and reached towards the nightstand, rummaging around in one of the drawers until he found what he was looking for. Lucas jerked under his touch when he heard the tell-tale pop.

“You seriously stashed lube in here?” he ground out, but, to his credit, kept his eyes closed.

“MI6 agents are well-known for their opportunism,” Q quipped, and Lucas barked a laugh.

“You don’t say,” was all he got out before Q flicked his thumb over the head of his dick before taking his hand away and resting it on his hip instead, and Lucas cursed.

“You know what to do,” Q said as he coated his fingers and lined them up with Lucas’ opening. Lucas nodded and bucked his hips again, which Q took for the sign it was. Carefully, he pushed a finger in up to the first knuckle, and when he felt Lucas’ ring of muscle relax around him, he ventured in further. Chancing a glance up at the agent’s face, he nearly stopped short: Lucas’ jaw was slack, head pushing back into the pillows, hair a dark mess, his breaths lengthening as he relaxed against the intrusion into his body. Q quickly pushed in a second finger and dropped his gaze, watching Lucas’ stomach muscles ripple under his skin instead, smirking when Lucas cursed again.

Q could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and worse was the arousal pooling in his gut. Adding a third finger, he held Lucas’ hip down when he rose off the bed again with a strangled groan. Scissoring Lucas open, Q bit his lip to fight his own moan as he trailed the tattoos with his eyes, caught himself imagining tracing them with his tongue and teeth.

He pulled his fingers out, Lucas’ thighs jumping at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Q grabbed a condom packet and pulled it open, rolled it down on his length and coated himself in lube, gritting his teeth. He moved closer and lowered himself between Lucas’ legs, bracing himself on his arms above him, both of them hissing when their erections brushed at first.

“Look at me,” Q instructed, and Lucas’ eyes had trouble focusing on him for a second. After their gazes had locked, Q reached down, aligned his the tip of his cock with Lucas’ entrance, and pushed in, slowly.

“Fuck,” Lucas breathed as soon as Q was fully sheathed within him, and Q couldn’t help but agree. Lucas was tight and hot around Q’s cock, and he’d be damned if he could keep quiet now. Q grunted loudly as he bottomed out and pushed in again with more speed, and he cursed when Lucas’ feet brushed his calves before digging into the backs of his thighs.

“Keep them where they are,” Q muttered when he noticed Lucas’ hands were reaching up; and although Lucas growled, he dropped them and fisted them into the bedding. Feeling generous, Q dropped his head and crushed his mouth against Lucas’ lips, sliding his tongue against the agent’s in time with the thrusts of his hips.

“Any requests?” he rasped when he pulled back a while after, the snap of his hips still shallow enough for Lucas to squirm in protest underneath him.

“You know what,” Lucas growled, but there was a needy edge to his voice that betrayed what this was doing to him.

“And I am _telling_ you to say it. Your only chance,” Q shot back, and he knew he had him.

Lucas’ eyes darkened. “Fuck me properly.”

Q granted his request.

On the next thrust, he drove himself into Lucas’ hole, hitting the prostate with such force that Lucas gave a startled yell that bounced off the walls. His deep voice was already half-wrecked, and the noises and shouts Q now committed himself to wringing from him soon had him hoarse. Speeding up, Q leaned on his left arm and moved the right back down to grip Lucas’ cock, pumping him just a little out of sync, his stare daring Lucas to avert his eyes, to look away from him now.

Lucas’ body was on fire, his heartbeat loud in his ears, and he knew he was close. The muscles in his back strained to meet Q thrust for thrust, but he refused to let go yet.

Q saw the determination in Lucas’ eyes and thought, _Fine_. He moved his fingers on Lucas’ cock to pull the foreskin back and drag his thumb across the slit. Once. Twice. He watched as Lucas’ eyes widened, he watched as his jaw flexed as he struggled. A third time.

Then, Lucas couldn’t hold on any longer and he came, spurting his seed over Q’s hand and his own chest; and he bucked his hips so violently that Q was unable to stave off his own climax. He gave a mangled shout and shuddered above Lucas as he emptied himself; then, he nearly collapsed on top of him. Q reached down to secure the condom as he pulled his softening cock from Lucas, who moaned at the sensation, too sensitive to cope.

Q rolled off to the side, coming to rest on his back, tied up the condom and tossed it towards the bin, panting. Lucas’ breaths were harsh and fast beside him.

_What we’ll leave behind  
_ _Oh, we all still die_


	9. Day Four, Part 3 / Day Five, Part 1

For a minute, neither of them spoke while they were getting their breathing back under control. Q turned his head on the pillow to chance a look at Lucas, who was staring at the ceiling, a little wide-eyed. He looked away again, studying the far wall, and didn’t move—one, because sex that angry and good deserved a little appreciative rest, and two, because he wanted this to be Lucas’s call. To get up and leave, to tell Q to fuck off. He’d started the conversation, it was his to end.

Plus, these things had a best-before date stamped all over them.

“That was stupid,” Lucas startled him out of his thoughts, and Q was even more surprised to hear a note of humour in the agent’s voice. A small smile tugged at his lips, but he suppressed it before he glanced back at North only to find him staring. He wasn’t smiling, either, but he had a brow cocked sardonically.

Q shrugged against the mattress. “Feel better?”

“I wasn’t aware that that was the point of the exercise.”

Q shrugged again. “It doesn’t change anything, if that was the point of it.”

Lucas’ expression shifted into something neutral and indifferent. “Get dressed. I’ll go and check the perimeter.”

Q nodded. Lucas had been right, it was a stupid thing to do in their situation. Not that their little adventure had taken very long, but they’d left themselves wide open, to coin a phrase. Q allowed himself a moment of mirth as he imagined what might have happened if James had arrived at the front door just then. Careful not let his amusement show, he got up and helped Lucas identify their scattered clothes.

While they were getting dressed, Q surreptitiously watched Lucas out of the corner of his eye. There was no urgency to the agent’s movements; nothing that suggested a regretful need to get away as fast as possible—and that precisely was the clincher. Despite the detachment with which he assessed and controlled their situation, a part of Q saddened at what he saw clear as day. Lucas didn’t trust him, of course he didn’t. He’d let someone he didn’t trust use his body, and he showed no sign of upset, or betrayed confidence after Q had implied suspecting him of whoring himself out for favours. The sex hadn’t been meant to trick Q into softening up. Lucas _had_ needed this, had taken commands and a royal pounding, and he’d enjoyed it without pretence. He’d let Q pervert the workings of a D/s relationship into an act, a ploy. Q hadn’t hurt him, he’d followed the script the way Lucas had needed him to—the actual insult would have been to thank him or, worse, provide aftercare.

Q shrugged into his shirt as Lucas left the room without a glance in his direction.

* * *

Again, their day before and morning after had been filled with the white noise of a silent truce and someone making enough canned soup for two. It had been Lucas’ turn to keep watch during the night (probably best for his encroaching paranoia, even after he’d checked the entire house twice); and although he wasn’t worried about waking to find a steak knife in his chest, Q had slept fitfully. Around 2am, he had temporarily given up on getting any rest at all and instead listened to quietly rustling paper in the kitchen. (At breakfast, Q discovered that Lucas had found a stack of old papers and done the crosswords, one after the other, almost all night.) Q refused to wonder if there was anything he could do.

There wasn’t.

Lucas North was persecuting himself with the tenacity and bloodlust of a restless hunter. He wasn’t just using opportunities, he was creating them; and he stepped willingly into every self-laid trap, without paying any mind to the world of trouble he set himself up for. He bore the punishment as if it weren’t his own, in the end. Q had no doubt that he felt his own cruelty keenly, but he seemed unperturbed in a way that screamed disassociation.

Was Lucas North punishing himself, or someone else that lived inside his mind?

Q mentally went through the data he’d pulled up before coming down to Thames House. He’d thought that whatever plagued Lucas was founded in Russia, but what if that had only made it worse? His mind shifted to the years before, and to how it had bugged him that there was so little information on Lucas North from before he applied for MI5; especially the lack of photographs... MI5 and 6 both liked knowing who their agents had once been friends with, didn’t they?

And then, the miniscule differences in reports and evaluations from the initial tests... But it couldn’t be. Could it?

After breakfast, Q sat back in his chair when Lucas left the kitchen to take a nap. That was what you got when you dug too deep. When Mallory told you to be _cautious_.


	10. Day Five, Part 2

Hours had passed since, and Q was still sitting in his chair in the kitchen, idly leafing through the copy of Blake’s poems that Lucas had taken exception to. Lucas himself, in the meantime, had woken from his nap, taken a shower, eaten a spot of lunch (all without a word to Q), and was now in the living room, either brooding or wondering if he should be so foolish and turn on his phone in spite of Q’s instructions.

The fifth day wasn’t being kind to either of them: not to Lucas, for obvious reasons, and not to Q, who had a headache the size of a mammoth. When Lucas had left the kitchen earlier, Q had noticed that there was a subtle shift in his walk, a detail that had escaped him so far, and he wished it had continued to. A patch of skin on his neck still tingled where Lucas’ stubble had scraped along, and he really didn’t need to think about Lucas being... sore in more ways than one.

He was about ready to set the stupid book on fire when there was a knock on the back door. Q jumped up and raced into the hall, nearly colliding with Lucas, who was already stalking down the corridor, his gun drawn and a murderous look on his face.

“Where’s your gun?” Lucas hissed. Q just blinked at him.

“Assassins don’t usually knock,” he replied calmly and pushed past Lucas towards the door. A hand clamped down around his left arm, holding him back.

“Want to bet your life on that?”

“Wouldn’t that be more convenient to you?” Q raised an eyebrow at North and freed his arm from the tight grasp. The look in Lucas’ eyes turned thunderous, but Q just turned and walked on. He didn’t have to check to know that the MI5 agent was following close behind. When he reached the door, he did turn and signalled for Lucas to lower the bloody weapon and keep his mouth shut.

“Hello?”

“I do hope the stove is still doing it. If not, I brought pizza,” a familiar voice called from outside.

“If it’s with pineapple, I’m gonna kill you,” Q shot back, ignoring the incredulous look he got from Lucas.

“Pepperoni and onion. Just don’t plan on kissing anyone within the next three days.”

“Will you stop talking now?”

“What? Hit a nerve?” Next to Q, Lucas tensed up even more.

“Bond.”

“Just let me in, will you?”

Q unlocked and opened the door, and James slid inside from where he’d been pressing himself against the outer wall of the house, carrying a heavy-looking messenger bag in his left.

“You took your time.”

“Tell that to that damned domestic terrorist you were after,” Bond groused, though his eyes were smiling.

Q smirked. “Yes, I’m glad to see you in one piece, too.”

Bond rolled his eyes and then turned towards Lucas. Since the end of the hallway wasn’t quite made for three people cramping themselves into it, they were standing rather close, and James had to look up a bit to make eye contact after looking North up and down once.

“Hello there,” he drawled, sticking out his hand. “My name’s Bond, James Bond.”

Q had to stifle a snort as he watched Lucas’ eye twitch at the preposterous introduction. “Lucas North,” the agent replied and shook Bond’s proffered hand perfunctorily.

“So you are Q’s MI5 pet,” James smirked, and Q wanted to beat someone’s head against the wall.

* * *

 

Lucas had a hard time believing that this was happening. Before him stood a blond sort of mini-Rambo in an expensive black suit, and he’d just called him a clandestine services _pet_. He’d heard of Bond, of course, had seen his face on blurry CCTV footage during the Skyfall operation that MI5 couldn’t have helped getting wind of if they’d tried and put blindfolds on, but this... He pulled himself together before he got carried away.

“Can we get on with it?” he demanded, becoming acutely aware of how awkward this was rapidly getting. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and stormed back to the living room.

Once there, he remembered the gun now in his left hand and stared down at it—that was how Q and Bond found him when they followed.

“Do I have to draw mine on him?” Bond asked over his shoulder, eyeing Lucas warily. Lucas’ head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. Bond raised his right hand in a placating gesture. “Alright, I get it, Q’s about to tell me whether to let you live or cut you loose. It’s bound to be awkward. Still, you should put that on the table where I can see it.”

Lucas hesitated, and without meaning to, he let his eyes flicker towards Q for just a second—who caught him, of course, as he was moving further into the room.

“Do as he says,” came the calm instructions, and he found himself complying even as Bond’s renewed smirk made him want to kneecap him.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“What did 5 say?”

“5 said he’s cleared, for all they know.”

Lucas’ heart leapt into his throat. And then, time didn’t even get the chance to slow down as Q turned towards him and spoke.

“After everything that happened on the mission and based on the behaviour that North exhibited while we were here—” (it was the sex, wasn’t it, the sex was what’s going to bury him, deep in the ground) “—I recommend that we all take a day off, get some rest, and then return to work next Tuesday morning.”

Lucas blinked.

“That’s it?” he heard himself ask, glad that his voice wasn’t as scratchy as his suddenly parched throat might have led him to believe.

“That’s it. Take your gun back.”

Lucas sat down on the sofa before jumping up again immediately and striding to the shelf to pick up his phone. He cast a questioning glance at Bond, who nodded and signalled to go ahead.

“Comms are open again.”

“Oh, good,” Q sighed, digging his own phone out of his pocket.

“I’m going to call Harry,” Lucas threw over his shoulder before quickly leaving the room.

Bond looked after the spook for a few seconds before turning back to Q.

“Did you make him walk funny?”


	11. Day Five / Day Six (Night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left!

“Don’t be so crude, 007. Oh, what am I saying, it’s your only _modus vivendi_. I do apologise.” Q glared at James and snatched the bag from his grasp. He sat himself in the spot Lucas had just vacated and opened the case to reveal his work laptop and a few other gadgets. Setting them on the coffee table before him, he asked, “So, got anything on?”

“As it is, I do. Or, rather, we do.” Bond leaned against the wall across from Q, hands in his pockets. At Q’s surprised look, he continued: “What, did you think they’d just press pause while you were holed up in here, all cozy?”

Q suppressed an indignant sniff. “It wasn’t cozy, I can assure you.”

“Really? Not at all cuddly, our dear Lucas?” James’ tone was lofty and his demeanour a practised ploy of innocent curiosity. Q despised him.

“What’s the job, James?”

* * *

 

“Lucas, we weren’t going to cut you loose over this,” Harry’s voice came through the speaker.

“But you did want Q’s opinion.”

“Stranger things have happened in safe houses, you know that.”

Lucas worked hard to gulp quietly and keep his voice from hitching. Stranger things, indeed. “When are we going to be extracted?”

“Tomorrow at 4pm. We’ll need to get you both to Thames House for debriefing, and then Q is going to transfer back to Six as soon as we’re done.”

“Good.”

“I guess you’ll be glad to be out of each other’s hair after all this.”

Lucas allowed himself a thin smile. “He’s not that terrible company.”

“No, but you are,” Harry shot back with the ease of a mostly repaired mentorship, and Lucas’ smile broadened.

“As long as my file doesn’t say, ‘Plays a mean game of Scrabble,’ after this, I’ll survive,” Lucas countered. He turned and walked back out of the room, then a few feet down the hall so he could look in on Q and Bond.

“Any lasting damage?”

“Hm? Oh, no, just... Just a bullet graze on my arm. Q slapped iodine on it, it’s already mostly healed,” Lucas looked down at his left arm as he said it. He’d sort of forgotten about it, had only checked the wound perfunctorily in the shower once. It wasn’t important.

“Good. Anything else you want to know?”

“Is Bond staying?”

“No. As far as I know, he’s got a job to do. Since Q can’t leave at the moment, you’re cleared to sit in, as long as you forget all about it by morning.”

“Should be interesting, see how the other half live.”

“Well, you’ve seen quite a bit of that in the past few days, haven’t you?”

 _In more ways than one_ , Lucas thought to himself, but he wisely didn’t mention that to Harry.

* * *

 

When he’d finished his conversation with Harry, Lucas went back into the living room, finding Q typing away feverishly and Bond still leaning against the wall.

“Everything alright at Section D?” Q asked without looking up from the screen.

“You know how it is. They missed me,” Lucas smirked; and, to his surprise, Q smiled.

“I guess your boss told you that we’ve got a bit of work to do tonight,” Bond cut in. North nodded and, at Bond’s insistent stare, shrugged.

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

Bond’s glare turned into something more mischievous as he cast a glance in Q’s general direction. “If that’s how Q prefers you...”

Lucas noted Q’s shoulders tense out of the corner of his eye and fought not to betray his own discomfort.

“I don’t think Q has any preferences concerning my person, but feel free to speculate.”

“Oh, I don’t need to speculate, Mr North. Just make sure they don’t smell it on you at the debrief tomorrow afternoon. Speaking of—can I have a word before I leave?”

“Sure. Where to, anyway?”

“Zürich, in an hour. For now, the kitchen will do.”

“They need him back in one piece, James,” Q reminded Bond from his perch on the sofa. 007 merely rolled his eyes and waved Lucas ahead.

Once they were in the kitchen, Bond pushed the door closed behind himself.

“Want to make some more rude suggestions, Mr Bond?”

“I’m only making observations,” Bond dismissed his implied complaint and casually checked the sink. When Lucas didn’t comment, he sighed in exasperation. “Come on, we’re all adults; most of the time, anyway. I certainly won’t mention it.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, judging by your track record. Stones and glass houses and all that.”

“Precisely.” Bond tilted his head. “I’m not here to make your life any harder than it already is, North.”

“Then what?”

“I wasn’t thrilled about him getting stuck here with you.”

“Don’t you trust his abilities?”

“Oh, I trust his. I didn’t particularly trust yours.”

“Past tense. Changed your mind?”

“Put it this way: he let you keep your gun. You could have shot him in his sleep. Know why you didn’t?”

Lucas didn’t reply.

“Because as long as he’s there, there’s no need to run. And... because you can’t run from him.”

“I can run from a dead man.”

“Can you?”

“Bond, what are you trying to accomplish? If this is the Hurt Him and I’ll Kill You speech, I’m sure you’ve noticed it’s not necessary.”

“I got that bit, yes,” James huffed a laugh.

“Then what’s your point?”

Bond sobered. “My point is: he saved your life. Don’t ask him why. You’ll like it even less than your reason for letting him.”

With that, Bond turned and stepped out of the kitchen, leaving behind a bewildered Lucas North.

* * *

 

“So, as we can’t very well chain you to the radiator in the bedroom for the night, you’re going to sit in on this one. Probably won’t be too exciting, just a bit of opera and interrupting an arms deal unwittingly brokered by the CIA. Felix is not happy.”

“Felix..?”

“Leiter. A name you’ll have—”

“Forgotten by morning, yes.”

“Good.”

“And what happens if something goes wrong?”

“When.”

“Come again?”

“ _When_ something goes wrong. With James, it always does. And _when_ it does, I’ll have to clear the way for him. We’ll have to clear the way for him, an extra pair of eyes won’t hurt.”

Lucas hummed from where he was gracelessly slouching on the sofa next to Q. “Wake me when it gets interesting, then.”

Q turned to look at him, blinking a little owlishly from behind his glasses; by far the most unassuming expression Lucas had ever seen on his face. “Sure, Mr North, just sleep through an MI6 operation, because, clearly, other agencies are so totally boring.”

Lucas smirked and watched as Q’s attention was called back to the screen by Bond activating his comms.

Q was right, everything that could have possibly gone tits-up did completely derail the entire op, with Bond miraculously keeping his arse out of the line of fire and, ultimately, apprehending the target and handing him off to whoever Felix Leiter was. Throughout the entire thing, Q had been a constant stream of information, sniping, and, Lucas had to admit, genius. Now that he had the time, he could freely observe Q as he worked, preparing Bond’s exit strategy even as the man was still ducking bullets, paving a way that the agent followed, at some point, literally blindly and without question.

In the end, Q didn’t really need any help; although it was fortunate that Lucas had been in Zürich before and knew of an abandoned water works two miles outside of the city. They watched the monitor, neither realising they’d been holding their breaths, as it went up in flames.

Q sighed. “Who’s going to pay the bill for that, I wonder.”

“Not us,” Lucas pointed out smugly.

“Ah, I see you’ve got your horrible sense of humour back,” Q observed drily.

“Disappointed?” Lucas raised a brow, feeling strangely at ease; keeping one eye on Bond as he made his way out of Switzerland.

“Well, thank goodness I don’t have to get used to it.”


	12. Day Six (The End)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the final chapter.

By the end of it, they both fell asleep on the sofa bed.

Lucas had, at some point, made Q crouch on the floor and then pushed and prodded until the backrest had slid down; all the while talking Bond through getting to the water works. After Bond had successfully blown up the target’s remaining crew, Lucas took his shoes off and stretched out on the far side.

“Need a nap?” Q frowned at him, and Lucas shrugged.

“It was your turn with the watch tonight,” he reminded the Quartermaster, suppressing a yawn.

“Fine, suit yourself.”

“ _I can hear you two flirting, you know_ ,” came Bond’s voice over the comms.

“Shut up, 007.”

“ _Fine. Cease and desist, I get it._ ”

“Doesn’t he ever stop?”

Q heaved a sigh. “No. Stick him on the North Pole, give him a walkie-talkie, he’ll harass you into next year.”

“ _I’ve been to the North Pole._ ”

“Congratulations.”

“ _Thank you._ ”

“Bond, are you done soon so we can kill the feed?”

“ _Is that whining I hear, North?_ ”

“James, you’re about to be run over by an approaching train. Again.”

Blessed silence greeted them as Bond averted the crisis and launched himself over a fence, by the sounds of it.

“ _I’m out of the area, emergency services seem to be en route; nicely far away from me. I think you can hand me over to HQ now, Q._ ”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yeah, you go back to your—_ ”

“Night, James,” Q quickly cut him off and pressed a key that miraculously muted the comms. He kept the GPS frequency open in case there was an emergency, but HQ was more than welcome to deal with anything else 007 got up to that night. Q took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. “I’d apologise, but I suspect that, given half a chance, you’d be just as bad to work with. So deal with it.”

Lucas chuckled. “If the cover necessitated it...”

“That’s James’ tragedy. It’s not a cover.” Q listed sideways slightly, the tension of the past five days bleeding out of him, along with the adrenaline unwittingly building up during the mission. He glanced at his watch: 4am. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm.

“Go on, go to sleep. I’ll try and stay awake.”

“It’s my turn.”

“You’ve been stubborn enough for both of us, and we’re in the clear. Get some rest.”

Q pushed Lucas’ hand away, but there was no venom neither in the gesture nor in his voice. “Stop nagging, North.”

“I don’t nag.”

Q rolled his eyes, dumped his glasses on the table, and quite simply slumped over onto the bed. “There.” He closed his eyes. Five minutes later, he was sound asleep; and Lucas managed about ten minutes longer before passing out.

* * *

 

When Q awoke, he was immediately aware of the warm body next to his. Carefully, he cracked open his left eye and discovered, to his immense relief, that at least they hadn’t gravitated towards each other during the night, that would have been too bloody awkward. (Actually, it would have been just his luck.)

Lucas was still sleeping (or feigning sleep very well, at any rate), lying on his back, his head pillowed on his right arm, his face turned towards the Quartermaster. He didn’t buy into the romantic notion of people like Lucas North looking wondrously relaxed in slumber, but at least the man wasn’t scowling at full force. To avoid being caught staring, he faced away from Lucas and dropped his head back down on the pillow that he’d managed to salvage. (The covers were buried and squashed underneath the two of them.)

As Lucas sighed quietly in his sleep, Q reminded himself that the relative levity of the previous night couldn’t last. He was glad to see that Lucas had relaxed so quickly, but that _definitely_ wouldn’t last. Q knew that, whatever happened after they parted—

“Q?”

Startled, he turned back, finding Lucas looking at him a little blearily.

“Ah. Morning. Sorry, I just wanted to check if you were awake.”

Q shrugged and found his voice. “Morning. It’s alright, I woke up a few minutes ago.”

Lucas hummed as he rubbed his eyes. He was about to sit up, but then laid back down and looked at Q with the sort of mischief in his gaze that had Q’s Quartermaster senses tingling. “Am I allowed to go outside now?”

Q couldn’t help but huff a laugh, then rolled his eyes and swatted his hand at the agent. “Get out.”

“As you will,” was all Lucas had to say before standing up on the sofa bed and then making short work of stepping over Q’s middle. Q ignored Lucas’ foot brushing his hip as he set down on the floor. James’ parting shot from the evening before came to mind: ‘Blimey, if he hadn’t been in so much trouble, you two could’ve had _fun_.’

God forbid.

* * *

The rest of the morning and noon passed uneventfully; a mockery of the standstill that they’d been in during the past 144 hours. It was 1pm, a team consisting of MI5 and 6 agents were due to arrive in three hours, and Q was typing away on a tablet while Lucas was reading Blake.

“I knew you’d warm up to him,” Q commented from the armchair in the corner furthest from the windows.

“That’s what Bond said to me about you,” Lucas threw back. He turned a page.

“I never did ask how your arm was doing.”

“It wasn’t important.”

* * *

 

“Do you have everything?”

“Not that we came with much, but, yeah, I’ve got my stuff. You got all your tech? Wouldn’t do to leave that lying around for the next idiot to find.”

“Are you insulting my colleagues, Lucas?”

“Of course I am.”

They met in the hallway, Q in the process of rolling up his discarded hotel uniform to bag it and hand it over to the other agents later. Lucas was smirking at him when Q looked up, so he gave the agent his best unimpressed look.

“Thank goodness you’re with 5,” he said drily.

Lucas’s smirk morphed into a quick smile before his expression grew serious. “We aren’t going to see each other again, are we?”

Q forced his expression to remain neutral. Despite the calm of the past twelve hours, there was something roiling behind Lucas’s eyes. “No, we won’t.”

Lucas looked down for a moment. “Bond warned me not to ask.”

“Then don’t.”

Lucas smiled at his shoes before looking up. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure I deserve that?”

“You helped me. You could have just shot me.”

“Would you have wanted me to?” He watched Lucas’s eyes harden. “Now? Last year? Nine years ago?”

“I won’t answer that.”

“One day, you will.” Somehow, he managed not to make it sound like a dark prophecy. Perhaps that was precisely what gave it away.

Lucas’s gaze searched his for a moment. But then, instead of questioning him, he leaned down. Pressed a firm kiss to Q’s lips. When he pulled away, the smirk was back in place.

* * *

 

**THAMES HOUSE, 9pm**

After the debriefing, as Q watched Lucas North walk away, down the labyrinthine corridors of Thames House, he knew one thing for sure.

_I helped you this time. But I cannot protect you from what’s coming for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate every single hit, kudos, and comment :)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, I get nothing.  
> Crossposted on ff.net.


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